mid

in the absence of sympathy,

the burn of vomit on my hips.

what does it take to supress the feeling

in my chest when i start healing,

the weeds grow around the fire hydrant

it starts to rain, the hydrant rusts.

weeds overbearing

red into dust.

eventually the hydrant is gone and the flowers grow, space for both them and their weed friends, 

no need to choke each other out

and there still is silence

both in wake and presence, when there is nothing left, like it never mattered in the first place.